


Be serious - I am wild

by galaxy_starshade



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AU where Enjolras is the cynic and Grantaire the believer, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 15:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4882498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxy_starshade/pseuds/galaxy_starshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Enjolras was the cynic and Grantaire the believer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enjolras

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post on Tumblr. Couldn't take my mind off it.
> 
> http://lulukewarm.tumblr.com/post/102826949519/dommechetta-grantairesbottle-les-mis-au
> 
> Seven very short chapters.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy !
> 
> (Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes, English isn't my first language)

It's a day like any other day in Paris. The wind pushes grey clouds across the sky, just as a dog would chase sheep in the mountains. The sun is hidden behind a big one, it has the shape of a house, Enjolras thinks. A giant grey house with no windows and no doors, with no exterior if not the cold skies.

One step. Was he a boy, was he a man, can you call someone a man when he never had to work a day to feed himself, when his face showed no trace of the rain and the storms raging outside, when he came home to a father and a mother who loved him but took every decision in regard of his life without his own insight, when he looks sixteen even if he is twenty-one ?

Another step. The man lets his eyes fall back to his feet, watching the house in the sky only bring memories of his own home, an enormous grey manor in Paris, with such gardens that it seemed to be the countryside. He prefers not to see the sky when it remembers him of being trapped, first in the familial mansion, then by the lights and shades of the Parisian high society, maybe after that by a marriage with a woman he wouldn't have chosen, whom he would've met only in the company of at least two other people, entrapped with money of a heirloom disgusting him a bit more every day, his hands tied by a title he never wanted, and suddenly the rain unlashes and he finds himself alone in the streets of Paris, far away from a place he since long stopped calling home. His blond hair, once glorious, plasters his head, his green jacket becomes dark green and his shirt sticks to his skin with his every movement.

He heads towards the Musain, trying to concede the limp he has since he took part in that brawl, three nights ago. He hides his hands, because he can't seem to make them stop shaking, he lets his feet take him to the stairs, because he doesn't want anyone to talk to him, and he asks for a bottle of wine, because ordering two straight after arriving would attracttoo much unwanted attention.

 


	2. Grantaire

It's a day like any other day in Paris. Rich and poor hurry beneath the grey clouds, happy to come back under their roof before the fall of rain. The sun shines weakly behind a big cloud, but its warmth nearly touches Grantaire's face.

One stride. People surround him in a whirlwind of colours; young ladies cladded in embroidered corsets and swirling skirts; men in more serious but just as colourful jackets and  top hats; workingmen in overalls and caps; gamins and gamines in rags, begging for a few sous or pickpocketing whoever passes too close from their little hands. What he sees are faces; happy, sad, hopeful, in love, too often desperate.

The people are what prompted him to action. As a young man studying art in Paris, he had to explore the most ill-frequented parts of the city. The contrast between the beautiful avenues and the small alley-ways and their dangers made him realize he had to do something. The colours of the world kept him going once he knew chat he had to do. If they still hadn't fled, it had to mean there still was hope for redemption. The world could transform in a better place if you gave it its chance, Grantaire thinks.

Another stride. The Friends of the ABC strived towards that better world, and Grantaire was their most visionary member, often listened to, sketching posters and finding slogans to rally the people. With the people he found a goal; with his friends he found a way to make it happen, and never had he felt more hopeful, more powerful in his youth, more happy to be alive and to be able to make a difference.

The rains begins to fall on his shoulders, plastering his shining black curls onto his forehead and darkening his red waistcoat; he couldn't find his jacket while leaving his flat. His shirt sleeves, which only sports a few paint splatters, stick to his arms and he shivers.

He hurries towards the café  Musain; the meeting is beginning in only a few minutes. He takes his hands out of his pockets, because he has people to greet, he heads towards the stairs, because the meeting is taking place upstairs where he can also talk to people who stayed on the first floor, he smiles, because this is where he belongs.


	3. Enjolras

At first, the constant chatter bothers him. He came to drink himself into oblivion, not to listen to people talk about their last courses at the nearest university. Then silence falls as what seems to be the leader appears from the stairs, and he isn't bothered anymore.

He can't help but gasp, because he's never seen anyone like this man. Enjolras is happy for the bottle in front of him. When sitting back, he can pretend he looks at his wine while he is, in fact, contemplating the man.

The man gestures forcefully while talking, but he's far from ridiculous. His paint-stained hands capture Enjolras' eyes, tracing wild shapes in the air, as if he was dancing while his legs remain solidly planted on the floor. His voice rises and lowers, full of hope and optimism,  as he speaks of grand ideals and bright futures, as he plans revolutions; as if it wasn't already hard enough to just survive without trying to change the world, Enjolras thinks.

He speaks for a few minutes, then leaves the word to another man, tall and bespectacled, but Enjolras isn't interested, he only wants to watch the first one. Now that he has stopped speaking, Enjolras can concentrate on other things than his deep voice and his powerful words, he can examine his raven curls and his bright eyes, the way he laughs and the gentle curve of his smile. He's not beautiful by the definition of the word, but the feelings he radiates are enough to brighten the world around him.

Enjolras frowns and tilts his head in puzzlement as he looks closer.

Happiness is the first thing he sees.


	4. Grantaire

At first, he doesn't see him because he's hidden behind a bottle of wine which contents are lowering faster and faster as the night is deepening. Then, while giving his speech, he notices bright blue eyes following his every movement, opening wide as he verbally dances through the room. 

His voice falters for a second as he catches sight of the man watching him. He's beautiful in a cold, freezing way. If he wasn't in the middle of his speech, Grantaire would take a pencil, a brush, his blood if he doesn't find any drawing tool near enough to immortalize the man's face. Grantaire has never felt such a strong urge to draw someone before as he does now.

The contrast between the stranger's face and his eyes is striking. As Grantaire watches the man, he wants to run away and crawl in a corner, under a table, to shield him from the misery and the horror that he can read in his gaze, in the way he sips from his bottle of wine, the way he's slumped against his chair.

Grantaire finishes speaking and hurries towards his usual table, rapidly drawing the man's face on his sketchpad. He can feel his gaze on the back of his neck, on his hands, but he can't look him in the eyes, not yet.

To win some time, he talks of light subjects with his friends, joking and laughing but never forgetting the man's stare. If he is the picture of calm itself, on the inside, he's afraid of what he's going to tell him. Somehow, he knows he can help him.


	5. Enjolras

The man, whom one of his friends called Grantaire, is drawing on a worn sketchpad he just produced from nowhere. His hand flies across the page, adding details here and there, and all the while Grantaire is smiling quietly, as if he knows of a secret nobody else posses.

The hour advances, the rest of Grantaire's group goes away, returning to their beds for a good night's sleep before tomorrow's lectures. Now only the curly-haired man remains, still sitting at his able, still drawing on his sketchpad. Enjolras still hasn't looked away.

Suddenly, Grantaire stands up, folding his book and putting it on the table in a decided fashion. He rises his head, and he walks towards Enjolras, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on him.

'First time here?', he asks.

'Yes', Enjolras responds. First time he remembers, anyway.

'We hold a rally tomorrow afternoon, and you'd be very welcome to come.'

'What'd be the point?'

'Changing things.'

Enjolras isn't sure if it's an answer of a question in itself. Grantaire looks at him, genuinely interested.

'That's not how it works', he answers.

'How could you know if you didn't try?'

Enjolras suddenly feels white-hot anger burning through him, directed at the man, because who is he to question his beliefs, to shake his inner core?

'Because I am nothing', he hisses. 'Because nothing will ever change. Because we live in a plutocracy and rich people will always rule the world, because whatever you try to do or to change, you will always loose, because you will never be able to annihilate the iron-clad ruling of people like my father.'


	6. Grantaire

He's frightened. Why is he frightened?

'It doesn't need to be like that', Grantaire says. 'We can fight to make this world a better place.'

'But it has no point. In the end, you will just fail. Everybody fails.'

'I'm not going to say sorry for trying. Can you not see the world around you? The colours, the simple fact that we are alive in a very big, very bright world. Yes, it is corrupted, yes, it is unfair, but if you renounce without even trying to fight, what will you have achieved? '

Grantaire breathes as the man looks at him with wide eyes, bewildered. He's nearly there.

'You have the gift of seeing why it is wrong, what we should change to make it work, and we need you to help us, _I_ need you. Please just open your eyes to what's around you, and realize that you are not alone.'

He now looks at him, eyes full of doubt.

'Even if you don't believe in the cause, you can make things better, because as a human being, you have the very potent, very extraordinary power of deciding what you want to do in your life, and with that knowledge, I know you will take the right decision. Nobody is insignificant.'

Time for the final blow.

'I believe in you.'


	7. Colours

For the first time in a very long time, Enjolras believes in something.

Grantaire's eyes are blue, just as the sky is, and never mind how many feelings pass on them, how many clouds pass on it, the blue never totally disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> To the dear (few) readers of Les Amis de l'ABC à Poudlard, next chapter, featuring Jehan , will be up next Saturday, hopefully.
> 
> Comments and/or kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
